OF WAR Anthology Novels 1-3 Page 12

  Another whose name had been Rose suddenly died of a massive heart attack at the age of 28. That was when Kat got smart. No more accidents. Rose had been foolish enough to point out plants to Kat; she was an herbalist and a very striking woman who was a rousing fuck, and Kat was almost sad to see her go. However, Kat had the sneaking suspicion that if she didn’t get rid of the woman then Rose was apt to usurp Kat and her place in the hierarchy.

  One of the plants she pointed out grew a stalk of flowers almost bell-shaped, Rose called it Foxglove and said the root could cause a person to have a heart attack and die nearly on the spot. It was very sweet and easily added to any fruit, wine or dessert without fear of detection. Rose was the first to go.

  After that, women dropped of heart attacks usually within a half hour of having engaged in a rousing round of sex with the God of War. This made Ares feel guilty and threw suspicion off her. Both were good things. Kat had already outlived all that came to this island before her and she intended to outlive all that would come after her.

  Kat hadn’t come here to live with Ares to be another one of his whores. Nor did she come here for anything as altruistic as love. Kat didn’t love Ares and Ares did not love Kat, as far as she could see he was incapable of deep emotions such as love. No, from the beginning she had her sights set on bigger things. Gods could do anything they wanted and Kat wanted a lot. Most of all she wanted the status and power that came with being his Consort. She intended to be around when the Olympians called him back to Olympus and she would go with him and live in Paradise among the Gods. She would dine on Nectar and Ambrosia in great palaces as her body was dripping in the finest clothing and jewels. They would all have to listen to her because she earned her place at Ares’ side. Nothing was going to get in her way.

  “You didn’t even ask me.”

  Ares propped his big frame up on one elbow to look at her. “I wasn’t aware that I had to ask you if I could have a guest in my home.”

  “Guest? You’ve never had a guest,” she said a sour voice. “Why do you need one now?”

  Need one? By the way she spoke one might think Ares had extended an engraved invitation to Alena to come and live on his island. “Jealousy doesn’t become you. I find it flattering but it’s getting annoying.”

  “I know what you did with her,” Kat shot through the corner of her mouth. “Or what you let her do to you. The whole island heard.”

  “So? Afraid she was better at it than you?” he teased. Alena was better at it than Kat. Kat never elicited such a howl from him in the entire time he’d known her. Then again, very few mortal women ever had, so Kat shouldn’t feel badly about it. “I imagine your little spy, Nicco, couldn’t wait to run back here and tell you all that he had seen, hmm? Did he tell you that when I called him out of the bushes where he’d been hiding that the spunk was still dripping off his hands?”

  “I won’t be made a fool,” Kat warned. “If nothing else, she should show me the respect I’m due. She’s no better than one of them.” She waved an angry hand toward the closed door near the foot of his bed, gesturing to the women behind it. Ares treated the stupid little mousy bitch as if she was royalty. He let her fill the cave with all of those damn plants! Flowers! There were hanging pots everywhere. Kat and Ares often turned a corner only to hit their head upon hanging ivy or other such greenery. He doted on her. He hung on her every word. Ares even gave Alena her own room! With a soft bed! And pillows! All these years when she was not sleeping on this hard stone she slept in a hammock in a communal room like the other women here. Worst of all, late at night when he was done with her and his whores, he made his way out of the bed, away from her and the comforts she had to offer, only to go down to little bitch’s private room and he might be there until near dawn.

  “One of them? I see,” Ares intoned as he grabbed her jaw and turned her to face him so he could stare her straight in those blue eyes. Mostly what he saw was that Kat had forgotten her place and with whom she was dealing. “What respect would that be, woman?” he sneered. “By her very nature alone, Alena is better than you. She is not one of you; she is not a mortal woman. This you cannot change.”

  “She’s not a Goddess either!” Kat cried. “You owe her nothing!” This was the thought that kept Kat awake at night, plotting ways to maintain her place and her position. Sex was the best way to get to him and maintain his interest. She worked hard to prove to him that she was the woman here who could please him the most. Perhaps she did not always sate him to the level of complete satisfaction, but she was the one who could take the most of his large cock without dying or screaming. That was why he kept her so close, fucked her so often, and let her get away with so much. What if the mousy little bitch could do it better? Once he got in that brand new hole and he was all wet and snug, what if Ares found Alena more satisfying because she could take even more of that hot staff than Kat? Where would that leave her? Then again, knowing Ares, perhaps Kat would get lucky and he’d fuck the little virgin to death on the first night out. It was altogether possible; still, Kat couldn’t take that risk.

  “It’s you who is no better than them. You should remember that more often,” he warned.

  Kat twisted her neck roughly and snatched her jaw from his grasp. “Yes, I am,” she challenged hotly. “If she is going to stay here then I insist that she be properly initiated. If what you said about Nicco is true, you’d better do it before the men take matters into their own hands.”

  “Will they? Then let me be absolutely clear, dear Katrina. I will slay any man who touches her and stick his head on a pike. You will pass that message along to Nicco, won’t you?”

  Kat tried to back pedal a bit but she was never good at such things. “Isn’t it bad enough you keep Onya all to yourself? Do you really need another little play-toy?”

  Ares was disappointed as he shook his dark head and let out a long deep sigh that gave the air of surrender, then he grabbed her jaw once more and roughly turned her head toward him. “Listen to me, woman, and listen well,” Ares seethed, “if, while I’m away, Alena should, I don’t know, lose her footing and fall off the cliff or suffer a sudden heart attack, I will hold you responsible. Am I clear?” A satisfying wince crossed her pretty face as she flinched.

  Ares did not get this old by being stupid. Before Kat came to live with him, a good deal of Ares’ women lived to ripe old ages and he took care of them when they grew old and frail. A woman who gave him a lifetime of loyal service deserved no less and he had sat by many a bedside holding a dying old woman’s hand and easing her passing to the Underworld. Since Kat arrived, it seemed the life expectancy of his women had dropped considerably. Ares long suspected Kat was involved. They were all mortal women and they had little significance to him so, to his discredit, he let it go but not this time. “When I leave the island I leave you in charge of the others, not so you can sit on my throne and have them wait upon you, but so you can watch over them in my stead. Don’t mistake my turning a blind eye to your misdeeds for my actually being blind,” he warned as he nodded, his onyx eyes blazed with flame. “Should any harm, any harm at all, come to Alena while I am away, I will personally see to it that you pay dearly.” The hand that had been on her jaw, pointed a finger toward her before it laid itself between her bare breasts and began slowly moving downward. “Trust me; one thing I excel at is making people suffer for a long…long time. Women are no exception; in fact they can provide particular amusement.” Between his thumb and forefinger, he tweaked one of her nipples with a vicious grip. “What do you think if I should put screws on those, hmmmmm? How does that sound, woman? I think it’s a good start.”

  Ares was always big on intimidation; it had served him well and gotten him far in this life. This time it was different because he was serious. The tone in his voice, the words he spoke, the gleam in his dark eyes sent an icy bolt through her just before he tweaked that nipple once more, sending the tender area stinging with pain. For the first time in a very long time, Kat felt afr
aid of him as he reminded her of just who he was and the things he was capable of doing with a smile. Yet she had to push it just a little further; Ares did not respect cowards and she needed to retain his respect if she was going to hold onto her position. “Accidents happen. What if she gets struck by lightning or something?”

  “Then before I thunder through the Gates of Olympus to take it up with my Father, I will have to ask you what you did to cause her to run out into the storm

  Chapter Eight

  You Don’t Have To Live Like a Refugee

  1

  Ceres Agar

  Alena named it for Ares many times, and so he had no trouble finding the horrid place. Standing atop a sand dune looking down, the God of War couldn’t believe his eyes at first, then his ears, and then his nose. Acres and acres of desolation in the form of torn tents and ramshackle huts met his eye. Clustered so close together, if it hadn’t been for the dismissal colors, he wouldn’t have been able to tell where one ended and another began. His dark eye fell upon two buildings, far to the rear of the camp; compared to the hovels around them they looked like the Taj Mahal, although they were nothing more than rudimentary constructions of hardened Earth and thatched roofs.

  They were Alena’s orphanage and school. She’d spoken so proudly of both but if either building were to sit on a lot in, say, her beloved Boston, the City Officials would condemn it upon sight and then burn it. That was his destination. Ares knew he would find Father Murphy and Sister Augustine within those walls, and they were whom he’d come to speak with.

  Then the sounds came to him on the wind: crying, screaming, wailing, moaning. The sounds of despair and desperation, not a single laugh lightened the plaintiff cries for someone to come along and put an end to this misery and suffering. Soon after the sounds invaded his ears, a familiar scent wafted to him. Putrid decay. Everything here was either dead or dying.

  Why would she come here? Mistake or not, why would she stay? This was no place for a Fey, not even one with as much spunk as she. Did Alena truly find this place preferable to Cernunnos’ Hall? Had the crime she’d witnessed her God commit been so horrifying that Ceres Agar was more appealing than spending her life as his Queen? Boston, Ares could understand. It wasn’t one of his favorite cities but it was a city, it had people, it had art, it had restaurants and shops and all of the things the Modern World had to offer. That he could see being more palatable than living with Cernunnos, but not this. Not by a country mile. Even he had no desire to tread further.

  However, Ares had come to find out more about his new guest and find out he would. As such, he’d dressed properly for the occasion, leaving his normal hardened black leather at home and exchanging it for a pair of rugged blue jeans, a tight fitting black tee, a black hooded sweatshirt and, of course, he kept his favorite steel-toed biker boots on his large feet. The God of War looked like anyone else but he was armed with more than just his magick. Judging by the amount of sun reflecting off metal surfaces down there, in this place it was not a good idea to wander as easy prey. There was a dagger sequestered in each boot, the one at his waist tucked into the belt below the sweatshirt, and a small caliber handgun behind it.

  Taking his time walking down the tall dune as his nose adjusted to the stench, he found a strange thing met his eye. There was a distinct prevalence of missing limbs. Everywhere he looked there were people missing hands, entire arms, and legs up to the knee. This affliction did not discriminate; it affected young and old alike. Upon first view, he thought there was a disease claiming these innocent limbs. However, the closer he got, the more he knew better. There was plenty of pestilence and disease in this place, but sharp knives had claimed those limbs by deliberately severing at the joints. In days of old—and, yes, right up to today in certain parts of this world—people often had their hands cut off for stealing. Ares wondered how many thieves were among him and what there was to take other than the odd scrap of food or favor from a woman, and Ares didn’t think anyone cared about the latter.

  Striding closer to the clustered tents the smell got worse; it stuck in his throat and made him want to vomit. It had been a long time since Ares smelled something this horrid and it made him long for the tangy salt air of his island. Making his way to the foot of the dune but still half a mile or so away from the nearest tent, a woman ran across his path. She was screaming, her face twisted in terror as she looked behind to see how close her pursuer was to catching her. That little bauble, that twist of the head, was the time the chaser was looking for; he pounced upon her back and tackled her to the ground.

  The woman was undernourished to say the least; she was nothing more than a twig with one arm. The man atop of her didn’t look as though he’d missed many meals lately, he had two good arms, and in one hand he had a very large knife. She screamed again and tried to fight him off with her arm. He laughed as he pinned it to the ground and hiked up her ratty dress. As the man freed his cock from his own tattered trousers, a dark shadow fell over them. He had just enough time to watch her eyes widen at something past his shoulder and listen to her fall silent. Then he was flying through the air at great height and speed before he crashed head first into the sand dune. Feeling more shock than danger, the man pulled his dark head out of the sand, shook it off only to have a good amount cling to the sweat on his ebony skin. It was his eyes turn to widen as he took in the sight of Ares standing over him with a very thoughtful expression on his ruggedly handsome face. Machete still in hand, sand-ridden cock still standing out of his pants, the man stumbled to his feet in the deep sand and held the large knife out to defend himself.

  The corners of Ares’ lips turned upward ever so slightly but his eyes lit up like the sun, in the last few seconds of his life, the man could swear he actually saw fire burning in those dark pits. Held in place not only by the sand but also by the sudden bolt of terror running through him, the man decided he would not go down without a fight and he lashed out with the knife. Ares took a step back just out of the reach of the sharp blade but not out of reach of his large hand. As the knife made its swing away from him, Ares grabbed the man’s wrist and turned the machete inward. “Coward,” he sneered. “Thug. Bully.” With a very purposeful move, Ares thrust the blade forward into the man’s stomach. “P-unk,” he spat as he pushed the blade further in and then out the man’s back before drawing the blade through the man’s innards. His guts spilled onto the sand in a great rush of blood, turning the dry dusty area crimson and congealing it into a large pool. Behind him, the woman let out a rush of air and began excitedly talking to him in a tribal langue Ares could barely understand. Slowly he turned to her. “Go home!” Ares shouted and then gestured toward the tents with the bloody blade. “Whichever one of these wretched hovels is yours….go there now!” Wiping the blade clean with his hand as he looked down at the corpse at his feet, Ares let out a heavy sigh as the woman ran away.

  So much for being discreet.

  Ares had intended to walk the distance between here and the buildings Alena helped erect, but by the time he got halfway through the camp, he thought word about him and the dead man would have spread like wildfire. While the God of War was perfectly capable of taking care of himself, he’d rather not frighten off the clergy he’d come to speak with or spend precious time watching his back. As such, he simply transported himself from where he stood to the doors of the orphanage in the blink of an eye.

  The double doors were ragged but still heavy and good. Ares grabbed hold of the large metal knocker and pounded it against the plate below it. Loud echoes rang out, they almost sounded like gunshots among the not too distant murmurs of despair. The third time he brought the hammer down as hard as he could and the door opened. Before him stood a woman well into her sixties; she was withered, and white. She wore a long blue skirt and a white blouse with a high collar. At first, she went to speak but then she took in the sight of him and her old eyes widened as she took a step back and clasped a hand to the gold cross between her flat bosom. “Sister
Augustine?”

  “What? How do you know my name?” the Good sister asked, still staring up at the stranger taking up the whole of the doorway. “Who are you?”

  “I thought you were bound for Rome.” She looked damn good for an old woman who’d survived a battle with pirates only to be sloshed about in the ocean and then returned here. “Forgive me,” he said with a smile, “my name is…Ares. Sister Maggie sends her regards.”

  The good sister’s eyes widened even further as she reached out with a withered hand and grasped him by the forearm. “Maggie? Where is she? Is she all right?”

  “Allow me inside and we will talk.”

  2

  Ares’ Island

  With Ares away Alena thought it best to make herself as scarce as possible. She thought about staying in her room behind the locked door but if Kat wanted to stir up trouble for her she’d probably camp right outside it or pound on it until Alena could no longer stand to listen. The day was chilly but sunny, and Alena slipped out of the cave and down to the beach. Sitting on the sand, her bare toes buried deep in its warmth, she stared out at the island across the way. She daydreamed of making a raft and sailing over there. It wouldn’t take too much, just a few trees and some vines. If Ares was gone more than a day and she worked very hard then maybe…

  If she had a week, that would be better. However, he had alluded to the idea that he might be gone as long as two days. Two days were better than one and she doubted it would take very long to sail over there. If she went deep into the wooded area of the island today and cut down four or five trees, stripped them of their branches, then tomorrow she could lash them together and by tomorrow night, under the cover of darkness, she could slip away. Once over there, she’d haul the raft ashore and hide it in the brush. When she was ready, she’d use it to sail to the next island and then the next.